


I'll Take The Bitter With The Sweet

by rmowens



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Athos POV, Cannon Divergence, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, graphic Description of Sexual Acts, injured d'Artagnan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-07 12:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6805405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmowens/pseuds/rmowens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It happened so fast. Yet not fast enough. The months of secrets, of ache, of torture, had felt like an eternity. Yet the eruption happened in less than a second."</p><p>Athos gives up on fighting his attraction to D'Artagnan, much to D'Artagnan's delight. </p><p>*Warning, lots of sap ahead. Read at your own risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Busted

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at this fandom and pairing. I am a huge D'Artagnan/Constance shipper on the show but when I started reading some of the D'Artagnan/Athos fiction, I got hooked on the idea of them. Since they are obviously not a couple on the show, fan stories have become my only outlet for them and I felt the need to contribute to the collection.  
> It was meant to be a short little one-shot but turned into a giant monster and I have no idea where it's leading me.
> 
> I doubt I got their voices entirely accurate, and they would most likely never say or do the cheesy things I wrote for them, but I hope everyone enjoys it anyway. Unbeta'd, but proof read extensively. Pardon any typos.

It happened so fast. Yet not fast enough. The months of secrets, of ache, of torture, had felt like an eternity. Yet the eruption happened in less than a second. It was too fast; blind groping and sloppy mis-aimed kisses had not quenched either man’s thirst. 

They had been interrupted by a frenzied knock on Athos’ door, causing them to spring apart awkwardly. Athos’ face, fire red and D’Artagnan’s face, pale as a ghost. Aramis shouted at Athos through the barrier, claiming there was an emergency the four of them must attend to.

Their heads jerked towards the intrusive sound, frightened they had been caught in their moment of weakness; grateful, and yet loathe for the interruption. Athos forced himself to speak, his voice coming out raspy and unsure of itself, afraid of divulging their indiscretion. 

“Coming!” he pathetically bellowed as the men frantically straightened their disheveled clothing. They hurriedly buttoned buttons, and cursed as they came across slots that were doomed to be empty because the button had been carelessly flung across the room during the unceremonious, half-completed disrobing. Shaking fingers tucked shirts into breeches and ran through hair, attempting to settle and smooth respective dark locks. 

“Porthos was sent to fetch the Pup.” Aramis added impatiently.

“No need, he is here.” Athos declared as he strode to the door on legs filled with jelly, opening it and trying to look as innocent and disconnected as possible as he avoided eye contact with the younger man standing awkwardly behind him. 

Aramis took in the state of them. Nothing amiss but their behavior. Ever the observant romantic, he had seen this scene before, when forbidden lovers had been caught red handed. Hell, he himself had been a player in these scenarios times too numerous to count. The signs were all there, overly-controlled breathing trying to slow rapid heartbeats due to adrenaline coursing through them as if in battle, fidgeting for lack of knowing what else to do with a body that has betrayed them with unwanted arousal, physical avoidance, trying to pretend the situation was not happening. And yearning. The air was thick with it; with the unfinished business of their lust. 

He regretted interrupting them. For months the two stubborn and frightened men had been dancing about one another, inadvertently flirting, sending looks of longing and admiration back and forth, bickering, challenging, pulling each other near and pushing each other away. 

The Musketeer looked between his brothers, with a knowing grin. “Best find Porthos before he searches all of Paris for you then. Treville wants to see us.” Not one to impose on another’s privacy, he turned on his heel and calmly walked away from the room’s threshold. Athos and D’Artagnan looked at each other with both shame and relief before following their brother into danger.


	2. Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone for the first time since their interrupted kiss, Athos and D'Artagnan each plead their case.

The mission had been a dangerous one, but all four soldiers returned relatively unharmed. D’Artagnan, of course, had been reckless and managed to sprain his left ankle. Bed rest had been ordered and Aramis, Porthos and Athos were assigned to see to his care. None minded the responsibility, except Athos.

Since the “incident”, Athos remained professional in his duty, carefully standing a reasonable distance apart and avoiding being alone with D'Artagnan. D'Artagnan, on the other hand, was encouraged by the "incident", taking it as an admission of Athos' attraction to him. However, today was Athos’ turn to bring the youngest Musketeer his meals and provide company for the evening. He gritted his teeth in trepidation, taking a deep breath in an effort to calm himself when he heard D’Artagnan respond to his knock. He entered the small quarters, awkwardly holding a basket which contained soup, bread, cheese, fruit and wine. He chanced a glance at the boy and immediately regretted it. 

He looked so beautiful in the candle light. He was sitting up in bed, blankets thrown off, revealing a bare torso, damp from the summer evening heat. The fabric of his white linen under clothes around his waist provided a deep contrast to his glowing brown skin; his black hair shone and his eyes danced as a surprised yet pleased smile spread across his face. “Athos” he breathed, clearly elated to see the older man, all discretion forgotten.

Athos guiltily looked away, the heat building in his body from the sight of the man before him making him blush.

“I’ve brought some you some food.” He forced out in his usual monotone, bored voice. He placed the basket on the small night stand next to D’Artagnan’s bed and quickly backed away. D’Artagnan’s smile flickered into a frown at the distance, but he couldn’t blame Athos’ reticence. The attraction was dangerous and acting on it was illegal. He himself had tried to deny the pull for fear of his mentor’s disgust and rejection. But their kiss changed everything and D’Artagnan’s fear had evaporated, want and need replacing it. Little did he know that Athos’ fear was still very real. The older man was haunted by visions of a lifeless D’Artagnan hanging from a noose upon the very branch that he condemned Anne to, convinced he was fated to doom his lovers; vowing to protect the innocent boy from the monster in him that would take advantage of the youth.

Athos slowly edged toward the door, asking “Is there anything else you require?” 

D’Artagnan shook his head, but made a request anyway. “Only to speak with you.” He hesitated. “About what happened last week. What’s been happening these past few months.”

Athos’ breath caught. “Damn.” He thought to himself, not sure how to handle the situation. In his obvious faltering, D’Artagnan pleaded “Please stay and talk to me.” 

He clenched his jaw. Damn those big doe eyes. His feet slowly and carefully shuffled back into the room. 

“It shouldn’t have happened” the older man declared coldly, his voice tinged with authoritative nobility. “I apologize for my indiscretion. I take full responsibility and I assure you, it will never happen again.” As he said this, he tried unsuccessfully to keep his eyes from the bare flesh before him. He felt a tingle jolt through his spine but forced the sensation down.

These feelings, things he had not felt since Anne, invaded his being, affecting his thoughts and body. He never expected to experience romantic happiness again, especially not with a man, but the young Gascon had crashed into and invaded his life, carving out a place for himself in the older man’s infected heart; slowly healing it. It terrified him how right it felt to desire the lean body with flat angles, so unlike the soft curves he always enjoyed before. It was a shock the first time he fantasized about burying himself in D'Artagnan's body; running his tongue over the black stubble covering the dark skin on the boy’s chin. It distressed him when the vision escalated and he climaxed at the thought of pressing their male scented bodies against each other, their most intimate parts interlocking, D’Artagnan’s face continually flashing in his mind’s eye the entire time he clandestinely touched himself. 

Upon the older man’s apology, a hurt and irritated D’Artagnan rolled his eyes and puffed out a breath. “Don’t you do that Athos. I know you wanted it. Wanted me. I felt it.”

Athos remained quiet, afraid to look into those big brown pleading eyes, gently shaking his head in denial.

D’Artagnan continued on, too stubborn to give up on his wish; trying to persuade his potential lover to submit to the feelings between them. “I wanted you too. I still do.” Athos snapped his eyes up, finally fully locking them onto the younger Musketeer's face. 

“You think you want me D’Artagnan. But you’re too young to know better.” D’Artagnan began to angrily interrupt but Athos pressed on before he could get a word out. “This…” he motioned between them, “is a fleeting fancy. You will realize I’m not good enough for you and regret any time spent as lovers.” He gulped on the last word, afraid of the sound of it on his tongue. “Please forget about me as anything other than your brother in arms.”

Annoyed that Athos thought he was too young, and irate that Athos thought he was not good enough, D’Artagnan cautiously threw his legs over the bed, standing on one foot, holding onto the bedpost for balance and looking determinedly in Athos' eyes, replied with, “No.”

Just like D’Artagnan couldn’t know Athos’ deepest darkest fears about dead loves, Athos couldn’t know that D’Artagnan admired men as well as women, in secret of course. He never acted on his attractions though, never trusting them enough to confess his desires; he knew the dangers. But Athos was different. He was a man of honor, his brother, his friend, his mentor; the older man was everything to him and he trusted him with his life. But D’Artagnan had never dared hope Athos felt the same until that day in his quarters. He wasn't about to give the man up without a fight.

His original purpose for calling on Athos that day had been to settle whatever issues he believed to be festering between them for the past few months. He was sure he had kept his secret desire for Athos to himself, yet for some unknown reason, Athos had been avoiding him personally and only speaking to him in professional instances. Of course, D'Artagnan constantly called him out on it, causing bickering matches between the two. If he could not have the older Musketeer to himself, he would at least have him as a friend.


	3. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What went down before Aramis interrupted them.

As soon as Athos opened the door, D’Artagnan swept into the room past him. “I must speak with you” he insisted.

“D’Artagnan. How nice to see you. Please come in.” Athos deadpanned.

As the older man shut the door, back to the room, D’Artagnan nervously advanced on him, resulting in a near miss of colliding chests when Athos spun around to face him. His blue eyes landed on open, earnest brown. Quickly, he tore his gaze away, interested in a bit of grime on the floor as he slid from between the warm body at his front and the door at his back. He walked to the opposite side of the room, and tried to ignore the hurt look on the boy’s face. That face always broke his heart, especially when he was the cause of it. Which lately, was often.

D’Artagnan began to lay out his grievances. 

“Did I do something to upset you? Your avoidance of me has not gone unnoticed.” D’Artagnan tried to keep his voice from wavering, trying his hardest not to drop to his knees and beg the man to forgive him for whatever his unknown transgression was. He succeeded in sounding confident. “I would not have us at odds Athos.” His eyes bore on the other Musketeer, waiting for a response.

Athos could only sigh in resignation. He understood why the Pup would think there was a problem between them. There was. But the problem was him. How could he make him understand he had done nothing wrong? He was the wrong one. He thought carefully before answering. “I apologize if you feel I’ve been avoiding you. It’s not the case.” He lied easily to protect them both. 

“I’ve just been handling some personal matters. Please believe me when I say I have no quarrel with you.” He concluded coldly, thinking it a plausible enough excuse.

The words did nothing to ease D’Artagnan’s fears; there was more to it and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. He strode across the room, purposely invading Athos’ space, attempting to get a rise out of him. Attempting to get, something…something more from his comrade. Athos was once again trapped between D’Artagnan and a hard place. His breath caught at the heat radiating from the body in front of him. Suddenly his throat was dry, his palms sweaty and his heart pounded quickly and loudly. This is exactly what he had been trying to avoid since he realized his feelings. 

“I don’t believe you Athos. Please just tell me the truth. Whatever your problem with me, I can’t fix it until I know what it is.” His eyes searched the older man’s face, looking for a sign of acquiescence and only finding turmoil in ice blue eyes. Without noticing, his breath quickened to align with Athos’. “Please” He whispered. “Just tell me.” 

Something inside of Athos snapped and he wanted the pain in the boy’s voice to disappear. Without thinking of the consequences, he lunged forward, rising up to aggressively claim D’Artagnan’s mouth. His hands greedily grabbed at the body pressing against his, reveling in the feel of lean muscle under the clothing. Soon though, the fog in his brain lifted and he broke apart, shocked to realized the younger man was kissing him back…his hands and mouth exploring just as fervently as his own.

D’Artagnan’s face was a portrait of happiness. His eyes were glassy and a huge grin spread across his face. His lips were swollen from little nips Athos had subjected them to. He had no clue what was happening between them, but that look the boy was giving him was the only permission he needed to continue. He growled as he reached out, grabbing D’Artagnan’s doublet, pulling him close again. The younger man let out a moan when their lips met, his fingers running through brown hair, pushing his body further into Athos, demanding more contact. 

And Athos gave it to him. He pushed back, their bodies now flush, they could feel each other’s hardness through layers of fabric, each moaning at the recognition. Athos’ lips and tongue ran over D’Artagnan's stubbled cheek, enjoying the feel of the masculine friction. It was better than his fantasy and he wanted more. He tore at D’Artagnan’s doublet and the shirt beneath enthusiastically. D’Artagnan reciprocated in kind, causing the absent buttons they would soon notice. 

The two men were still pawing at each other’s clothing, mouths dueling, when Aramis’ loud banging on the door caused them to jump away from each other. The realization of what just happened sinking in and causing a deep guilt on Athos’ part and a great hope on D’Artagnan’s part.


	4. Of Course I'll Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D'Artagnan is very persuasive.

“No.” D’Artagnan repeated. 

He began to hobble to Athos; desperate to touch him but knowing the older man wouldn’t dare approach the bed. Pain flashed across the boy’s face and Athos closed the distance between them, instinctively wrapping his arms around D’Artagnan’s waist, gently lifting to take the pressure off the injured ankle. 

“What do you think you’re doing!?” Athos chided. “You know you’re supposed to stay off that ankle.”

The worry on Athos’ face faded as D’Artagnan reached out, lightly running the pad of his index finger over the scar on older man’s upper lip, fascinated by the beauty of it; he had always wanted to touch it, to kiss it. At the contact, Athos shivered, his eyes fixed on boy in his arms. As much as he wanted to tighten his grip, let himself feel the warm skin pressed against him, claim those full, lush lips, he gently pulled the farm roughened hands away from his face, desperately trying not to hurt the younger man’s feelings. 

“Did you not just hear what I said D’Artagnan?” He asked sadly. 

“And did you not just hear what I said Athos?” Came the stubborn reply. “No.” He repeated again, for Athos’ benefit. “I will not have it.” His grip tightened on Athos’ shoulders as he tried to lead D’Artagnan back to the bed to sit, but the boy refused to move as if he were an obstinate horse.

He once again grabbed Athos’ face between his hands, forcing Athos’ gaze to meet his own. “You, MY Athos, are the best person I know.” His hands shook with the passion of his words, trying to shake sense into the thick headed man. “You’re beautiful and kind and compassionate and brave and loyal and honorable and gentle. And maybe I am too young to know better; perhaps it is too dangerous, but you are worth any and all risk.” Athos’ eyes were filled with unshed tears, moved by the zeal with which D’Artagnan believed in him.

D’Artagnan declared, in his Gascon forwardness, which Athos’ admired and feared, “I’ve wanted you for so long, and now that I know you want me too, I will have you.” He leaned his head down and cautiously brushed his lips against Athos’, waiting to see what the older man would do, expecting to be rejected again. However, Athos let D’Artagnan do what he pleased, his arms frozen around the small waist, enjoying the feel of the soft lips on his. God help him but he didn’t move, didn’t push the younger man away.

Athos stayed still as D’Artagnan continued to explore with his mouth. He stole kisses from the older man’s lips, traveling to his cheeks and his nose. Athos melted when D’Artagnan’s nose lightly brushed his own in an eskimo kiss, all hesitation gone at the sentimental gesture. His grip on the boy’s waist tightened as the warm mouth moved to his neck, gently sucking and licking at his skin. The base of his spine tingled and his cock, already semi-hard from the kisses, came fully to life as D’Artagnan lavished attention on his neck and ear lobes. Still he did not move, too intent on basking in the long absent sensations.

D’Artagnan however took the lack of response as a rejection and began to beg into Athos’ ear. “Please Athos” *kiss “Pleasepleasepleaseplease” *lick “Please Athos, love me; touch me.” Athos groaned at the requests.

D’Artagnan broke away from Athos’ neck to look him in the eye. The older Musketeer's breath caught at the look on the boy’s face; eyes hazy with lust; lips, swollen and red, irritated from rubbing against his beard; chin, wet with his saliva. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, more beautiful than Anne even; because it was real. D’Artagnan was real and he was placing his heart in Athos’ hands, trusting that he would take care of it, protect it. And he broke, no longer wanting to deny either of them happiness, no longer letting fear of the possible consequences rule him.

Finally, Athos removed his right hand from the boy’s waist, and moved to tuck a strand of soft black hair behind a delicate ear. He pulled D’Artagnan closer to him with his left arm, still looped around the younger Musketeer’s waist.

“Of course” he breathed into the space between their faces.


	5. How Did I Fall In Love With You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first real taste of physical intimacy with each other leads to Athos' confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing these two as if they were inexperienced teenagers discovering sex for the first time, because in a way they are. 
> 
> *Mon Amour: My Love

D’Artagnan smiled at the very “Athos” answer before bending down to kiss his new lover once again.

For the first time since that precious day last week, Athos kissed him back, this time it was sweet and chaste. Heedful of the pain the boy must be in, Athos helped D’Artagnan with the short walk back to his bed. He lay back down, elevating his ankle on some stacked pillows, adjusting himself until his side was pressed against the wall allowing for some space next to him in the small bed.

Athos awkwardly stood watching; wondering what was going to happen next when D’Artagnan patted the sheets. “Lay with me.” he requested. 

Nervously Athos removed his doublet and breeches, mirroring D’Artagnan’s bare chest and covered pelvis. He was hyper aware of brown eyes staring at him with yearning. When the task was complete, he adjusted the covers so they rested at the foot of the bed instead of on the two men, mindful of the warmth in the room and even more so of the heat radiating from their touching skin. As soon as Athos was settled on his back next to D’Artagnan, the younger Musketeer quickly half rolled onto his torso, cuddling into his side and running his hands over the lean muscle, playing with the dusting of hair on his lighter skinned chest and belly. He heard the boy sigh as his hands explored, obviously delighted at the freedom to touch. 

Athos too sighed at the touches, his fingers running through D’Artagnan’s hair, without shame or fear. He simply let himself enjoy being held and caressed. The room was quiet, only content breathing could be heard as they softly discovered each other’s skin, taking their time. Soon though, Athos noticed, in the dim candlelight, that the rise and fall of D’Artagnan’s chest began to become more erratic as his breathing hitched. He was about inquire if the boy was in pain when he suddenly felt it. 

D’Artagnan’s hand tentatively cupped his cock through his small clothes, his thumb lightly rubbing circles on the head. His penis, which had been relaxed and soft while holding D’Artganan, was now quickly growing to fullness. He gasped as the boy’s caresses became more daring, his hands and fingers exploring his testicles, his inner thighs, and shaft. Next to his ear, D’Artagnan’s whimpered as his own hardness pressed into Athos’ outer thigh. 

It didn’t take long for both of their small clothes to become wet, both cocks leaking with neglected need. D’Artagnan, no longer satisfied with touching Athos over the fabric, thrust his hand inside and gripped onto Athos’ sensitive flesh, causing the older man to curse under his breath. D’Artagnan grinned in triumph as Athos’ hips began to reflexively rock against his hand. He experimentally spread his fingers apart, letting each digit graze the slippery skin with each thrust. He got the desired reaction as Athos moaned his name and clutched onto his hip. 

Athos’ skin felt as if it were on fire as the farm boy’s calloused fingers traveled over him, his large, rough hands a stark contrast to the soft small ones that wrapped around him in the past. He was high on the touch when D’Artagnan seized his mouth, his tongue invading. Without warning, he was enveloped by the younger man. D’Artagnan had very carefully rolled himself on top of Athos, his hand never leaving his prize, but now as he stroked Athos, kissed him and held him, he also began to gyrate his own throbbing hardness against Athos’ quadricep, whimpering and moaning with each small thrust, calling out Athos’ name like a prayer. 

Athos, who had been mostly quiet, enjoying the attention, trying to take in all the small details of this new person who wanted him so desperately, attempting to reconcile the fact that he was so aroused by a man, felt instantly guilty for neglecting the boy’s pleasure. 

Determined to give D’Artagnan more attention, he tried to remove the young Musketeer’s hand from his cock, but he only gripped tighter as if it were a security blanket, his thrusts against the leg beneath him long and languid. Athos was afraid to interrupt the boy’s bliss, but he was unsure if D’Artagnan wanted something more than what he had already taken. He wanted to turn the table, flip the younger man on his back and sprawl on him, use his hands and mouth to make him moan. But the thought of jarring his injured ankle and causing pain kept him where he was, pinned under the weight of a body burning hot like embers. 

D’Artagnan’s hand, still gently caressing his testicles and penis, in combination with his grinding and the and noises he was making into his mouth, were driving him insane. It felt like they had been at this for hours when it had only been minutes. 

His hands traveled down D’Artagnan’s back, gliding through the sweat to reach the waist band of his damp small clothes. He dipped his hands and grasped the boy’s cheeks, kneading, pressing him harder against his leg. His fingers danced in the dusting of hair around the crack, enjoying the novel feature, but taking care not to trespass in the crevice. D’Artagnan moaned loudly at the hands newly upon the sensitive area. 

Athos broke from D’Artagnan’s mouth, only to whisper in his ear “Mon Amour, what do you need? What can I do?” 

D’Artagnan gasped at the term of endearment, but Athos hadn’t realized what he’d said. D’Artagnan’s thrusts became a quick tempo staccato, so close to the edge, just from being in Athos’s arms, kissing him, finding sweet friction against him. 

“Say it again.” He demanded.

“What?” Athos honestly didn’t know.

D’Artagnan begged without shame. “Mon Amour. Call me that again.” 

Realization dawned on Athos, his stomach dropping at the comprehension. He was in love with D’Artagnan. It wasn’t just an infatuation, a harmless crush or a passing phase. Dear God, how did this happen?

The silence crashed down on D’Artagnan and he ceased thrusting, fear and disappointment replacing joy and arousal. He looked down at Athos’ face, so many thoughts running across his features at one time. “Did you…did you not mean it?” His hand left Athos’ penis as if were poison. The crack in his voice made Athos’ chest contract in horror.

“Of course I meant it.” He reassured, his hand stroking the boy’s cheek. “It just frightened me how easily it came to my lips. I didn’t realize until now.”

D’Artagnan didn’t look convinced.

“Come here Mon Amour.” Athos held out his arms and D’Artagnan fell back into them, nuzzling his sweaty neck. Athos’ hands returned to the boy’s rear end, massaging and encouraging him to finish what he started. But D’Artagnan only lay on Athos, his body still, lips pressing kisses to Athos’ neck, still hard cock pressing against his leg. 

Athos tried again to coax the boy back to his movement, confused by D’Artagnan’s halted passion despite the arousal that remained between both of their legs. He didn’t know what to do or what was wrong so he did what his instincts screamed at him to do. 

He simply held D’Artagnan, offering reassurance. His arms moved around his shoulders, his fingers carding through dark damp hair, his lips leaving kisses on the top of his forehead. “Please forgive me D’Artagnan. I didn’t mean to upset you Mon Amour.” He felt D’Artagnan’s penis twitch against his leg and he grinned at the clue. He shifted his body down, his lips finding the shell of D’Artagnan’s ear and experimentally whispered “Mon Amour”. Another twitch. His arms gripped around D’Artagnan’s shoulders tighter and his lips pressed against his hair, breath blowing the strands as he spoke. “MonAmourMonAmourMonAmourMonAmour.” D’Artagnan whimpered and pressed his face further into Athos’ neck, his pelvis, pressed harder against Athos’ thigh. He began to slowly move again.

Athos smiled, his hand stroking D’Artagnan’s cheek. “Come on Pup, finish what you started.” His voice like a velvet command as his leg pushed back against the boy, encouraging him. He whispered words of love and devotion as the friction drove D’Artagnan to the edge. 

He finally reached completion after seven thrusts. “Oh God!” He bellowed as his mouth claimed Athos’ lips during his release, attempting to stifle any noise that may draw attention to them. The intensity consuming him like a fire, he involuntarily bit, drawing blood from his lover’s bottom lip. His breathing was labored as the fog began to clear. He gently licked at the bite mark, cleaning the blood away, apologizing to Athos for hurting him. Athos though, too amazed by the sight had barely even noticed the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to give an idea of where my head is at while writing this, these are the songs I have been listening to obsessively, drawing inspiration from them. (If anyone wants to take a listen)
> 
> *Rosi Golan: Come Around  
> *Ed Sheeran: Kiss Me  
> *Ed Sheeran: Give Me Love  
> *Steve Carlson: Pinata Novia (The version from his Spot in the Corner album)


	6. Will We Grow Old Together?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos contemplates various roads their future may take.

The sun finished setting at least an hour ago he thought to himself. After his release, D’Artagnan had fallen asleep on Athos, and Athos couldn’t bare to disturb in order him to open the shutter to check the moon’s height. Now, his body was stiff, he ached to stand up, or at least turn on his side, he was starving and he desperately needed the chamber pot. 

He looked down at the sleeping man on him and sighed. What the hell was he going to do? He was in too deep. Knew he would never deny him anything. He also knew they would most likely end up at the gallows, especially if anyone had overheard D’Artagnan’s cries for him during their intimacy. Could they get away with it? Present themselves as dear friends, perhaps even roommates, if it came to it, on the outside, yet remain lovers in their own private moments? Would they be convincing enough to hide longing looks and not so casual touches? Would they grow old together or die young together in their soldier's duty? If only one were to die, how would the other cope? And what of a family? Children? They would never be able to have that. 

He knew D’Artagnan was willing to risk all to have him. "Why live a long miserable life separated when we can live happily together, if it is only for a short time?" He reasoned. But Athos knew misery. He lived it everyday for five years after Anne. He wasn’t sure if he could feel anything else. What if his inability to be happy seeped into D’Artagnan and spoiled the boy’s optimism and innocence? What if, he thought, D’Artagnan’s optimism and innocence seeped into me? He felt hopeful at the notion. 

Just then D’Artagnan let out a light snore, causing the older man to chuckle and rub the dark skin on the younger man’s back. As he was attempting to slide out from underneath the boy to tend to his biological needs, D’Artagnan began to shift, coming out of his sleepy fog, he forgot he was injured and tried to move his foot, eliciting a pained gasp. “Shhh. You're okay. Don’t move your ankle.”

At Athos’ words, D’Artagnan remembered where he was and who he was with, immediately calming down, and laying back down on Athos’ torso. Not able to postpone getting out of bed any longer, he shifted to reach D’Artagnan’s ear and whispered “Mon Amour, I’m afraid you must let me up.” D’Artagnan only shook his head and held tighter." Athos fondly grinned. “If you squeeze me any harder, my bladder is going to burst on both of us.”

D’Artagnan groaned in frustration but lifted his arm, freeing the older man. As Athos slid away, D’Artagnan’s seed, which had hardened between their abdomens as the boy lay on him, began to crack and break up, leaving some on each of their skin. Athos blushed and D’Artagnan grinned mischievously.


	7. This Proves You're Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More sexual firsts for the men.

The younger Musketeer watched Athos as he moved around the room, relieving his bladder, cleaning his hands and his chest, which D'Artagnan noticed he did reluctantly. He also he opened the windows for a bit to air the room. By the look of the moon, it had to be at least 11:00 p.m. He then set out the food on a tray, ready to be devoured. Once everything was settled, he turned to D’Artagnan.

He walked to the bed and held out his arms. “Ready?” Athos questioned him. 

D’Artagnan braced himself for pain as he let Athos hold him up. “Just long enough for you to stretch Pup.” Athos assured. The younger man didn’t mind. He was beginning to get sick of that bed already...except the times Athos shared it with him. With impure thoughts, he looked between his lover and the bed longingly. Athos pretended not to notice the silent comment and he brought the chamber pot over for the boy to use. He tried to give D’Artagnan as much privacy as possible during the act, but in all of their heavy petting and groping, they hadn’t taken the time to properly look at each other’s most intimate areas. He could only guess the looks of it by how it felt against his leg. He had yet to even touch it thoroughly and the thought of putting his hands and mouth on D’Artagnan’s cock was causing his own to wake. Never mind he never did such a thing before and would surely be clumsy and awkward.

A question flashed through his brain as D’Artagnan was cleaning himself with a wet cloth. A question which made him blush a bright red. When they did get round to…that...how would it work? Which of them would take, and which would give? Just as suddenly as the thought came, another followed. Not for the first time, he imagined himself buried deep inside of D’Artagnan, of D’Artagnan’s walls tightening around him. Is that how it worked? Would it be as familiar as a woman’s warmth or would it be something completely different? What would it be like to have D’Artagnan inside of him? Would it hurt? How messy would it be? Would he like it? He was drifting in his thoughts, his cock rising in his small clothes at the images floating in his head, not noticing D’Artagnan had finished his grooming, changing into fresh clothes, brushing his hair, cleaning his teeth. 

He was sat back down on the bed, his face lined up with Athos’ hardness, unaware he was biting his lower lip in covetousness. Athos looked down when D’Artagnan let out a whine. The boy had cleaned up and looked beautiful. Only, was that...? Athos looked at the black haired torso closer. It was. Athos gasped as he realized the Pup hadn’t cleaned his release off his belly. His eyes locked onto the mess and D’Artagnan noticed. 

“I couldn’t bare to.” He reached for Athos’ hand and looked at him through dark, thick eyelashes, causing Athos to rise further. “I wish it was yours.” The older man gulped and his knees wobbled as D’Artagnan leaned in to nuzzle Athos’ penis through his small clothes. His arms reached around, grabbing Athos’ cheeks and pulling him closer. He moaned at the touch from D’Artagnan. Just then a breeze came through the window, caressing his back and reminding him that D’Artagnan could be noisy. 

“Wait” he instructed as he pulled away, walking to shut the window, praying to God it blocked out whatever filthy sounds may escape their mouths. 

He walked directly back into D’Artagnan’s waiting arms. Without missing a beat, the boy again pressed his face against the cloth covered hardness, breathing in the scent of Athos, laying kisses over the fabric. Athos sighed in pleasure and buried his fingers in D’Artagnan’s long dark hair, thankful for the touch to help ground him. 

Though the younger man wanted to taste Athos very much, he was nervous. When he worked up the nerve, D’Artagnan looked up at Athos through his lashes and confessed “I’ve never done this” he finished with a glance toward the covered penis. 

Athos smiled and caressed his cheek. “Me neither” he began, “at least not with a man.” D’Artagnan blinked in understanding. Athos thought that meant he wanted more of an explanation. “Only with…my wife” he admitted, clearly worried about D’Artagnan’s reaction. He felt a strong guilt as a dark flash crossed his boy’s face but it was alleviated when the younger man growled “You’re mine now.” 

Athos whimpered at the declaration. 

With that burst of confidence, D’Artagnan pulled down the underclothes, sliding them past Athos’ knees and as Athos stepped out of the fabric puddle, D’Artagnan’s mouth hastily slid around his shaft, claiming what was now his, enthusiasm making up for inexperience. It was sloppy and overly wet and inconsistent but Athos’ fingers tangled in D’Artagnan’s hair, gently pulling with each moan. Every time D’Artagnan drew his testicles into his mouth, or ran his tongue over the head or slurped at the salty liquid that was leaking, Athos’ legs grew a bit shakier. He chanted D’Artagnan’s name between labored breaths. He tried not to thrust into the boy’s mouth remembering it was only his first time. 

He tried to focus on the feeling. He tried to avoid drawing comparisons but did anyway. Anne had also been enthusiastic with him, but her style was cleaner, more in control. She knew what he liked and she gave it to him. But D’Artagnan was wild in his technique; sucking and lapping over every bit of his skin, leaving no bit of him neglected or dry. He throbbed in D’Artagnan’s mouth and in response to the twitch, the boy reached around his hips, grabbing his cheeks, and pulled him closer, deeper into his mouth. He sealed Athos’ cock in the warm cavern with his lips, holding him there, torturing him with each caress of his tongue on the underside. 

Athos let out a wail, pulling D’Artagnan’s hair as he found his release. He hastily tried pulling out of the young man’s mouth, recalling how much Anne hated the taste, but D’Artagnan held his pelvis firm as he took in the seed, swallowing as much as he could, choking as some leaked out of his mouth and dribbled down his chin. His grip loosened when he could milk no more from Athos and the older man immediately fell onto his knees, spent from the release but needing to check on his boy. He grabbed D’Artagnan’s face, concern etched around his eyes. He wiped white seed from brown cheeks as he fussed over the Pup. The boy was dazed but smiled at his Musketeer. “I want to carry you in me at all times. I’ll always take you in, no matter where you release.”

Athos’ eyes widened, speechless at the devotion and neediness. 

“Stand up” D’Artagnan ordered. 

Athos gave him a challenging look, his lips quirking, clearly unused to taking orders from anyone but Treville. 

D’Artagnan’s gaze never wavered, challenging right back. Athos stood up, now soft in front of D’Artagnan’s face. 

He braced his hands on Athos’ hips, and looked up at the man through his curtain of hair. Athos looked curiously back at him, waiting to see what he was going to do.

Gently, D’Artagnan lowered his mouth to Athos’ pelvis, onto the patch of skin next to his cock. He began to suck. His mouth creating a vacuum, his teeth scraping and drawing blood to just below the surface of Athos’ flesh. He continued to suck and bite the spot, all the while, digging his fingers into the soft flesh on Athos’ hips, leaving marks that matched them perfectly. When Athos realized what the boy was doing, he gasped, his own fingers once again threading through soft black hair. “D’Artagnan” he rasped out, not knowing what else to say.

When D’Artagnan felt the mark was complete, he admired his handiwork, running his tongue over it to soothe the sting. He looked up into Athos’ eyes and said “No matter where you are, where we may or may not end up, this mark is a reminder that you're mine. As long as we are together, I will never let it fade.” 

Athos was astounded at D’Artagnan’s ability to jump into a relationship with him so wholeheartedly after only months of pining from a distance and one interrupted kiss. He could blame it on his youthful naivety, but he was right there with the boy, aware they could never go back to the way it was before, knowing what they know now. 

The older man nodded his head, kissed the back of D’Artagnan’s hand in acknowledgment and gently nudged him back onto the bed, guiding him against the wall and propping his foot up on the stack of pillows. The skin was a nasty looking purple color, the joint was swollen and angry looking. In that moment, he wished he could kiss all of D’Artagnan’s injuries and pain away. 

When the boy was settled, Athos squeezed in beside him; D’Artagnan automatically snuggled into his side, carefully twisting his hips so that the leg stayed straight but his face could rest on Athos’ chest. 

Athos turned his head to the side table and blew the candle out, all food forgotten in the evening’s activities. In the dark, he held onto D’Artagnan tightly, scared that if he let go, he would wake to find it all a dream.

He could stay all night with D’Artagnan while he was injured. They could use it as an excuse. “Athos is such a good friend” they would say “for taking care of his comrade while he is hurt.” No one would blink twice. But once the boy heals, he thinks grimly, gossip would surely begin if their overnight visits continued.

He mentally pushed the worry from his thoughts, focusing on now. And now, he was the happiest he’s been in years. In less than 15 minutes, the men lay tucked against each other, gently snoring and dreaming of each other.


	8. Watch Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis and Porthos pay an unexpected visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mon Coeur; My Heart

Athos was woken from his sleepy haze, a sound somewhere in the distance rousing him. He looked over at D’Artagnan. He shifted sometime in the night, his head on his own pillow, but his fingers clutched in the part of Athos’ small clothes covering his thigh. He grinned at the sight of the sleeping young Musketeer but as the noise continued he remembered where he was and tried to collect himself. 

It was the door, he thought to himself, his mind becoming clearer. Someone was knocking. “Just a minute!” he rasped in a sleep rough voice. He began to tidy himself, trying to make it look like he hadn't been pressed against another body all night. “What time is it?” he thought to himself. The beginning of a fresh day’s sunlight crept through the shuttered window.

“Athos? Is that you?” Came Aramis’ confused voice from the other side of the door."

He sighed in relief. He looked back at D’Artagnan’s sleeping form, wondering how the knocking and slight shouting had not stirred him. He proceeded to open the door, expecting to see the early bird that was Aramis, but was surprised at the sight of Aramis AND Porthos, both looking staggered to see him in D’Artagnan’s quarters so early in the morning. “We came to check on D’Artagnan before our duties begin” Aramis explained.

Athos moved aside to let them in the room, praying they didn’t notice anything suspicious. 

“I fell asleep in the chair” he weakly lied. Both men took in the state of the dwelling. It did not take a highly trained Musketeer to figure out what secrets the room held. The smell of seed and sweat lingered, the closed shutters locking in the musky scent. A stiff and crusty cloth lay on the floor next to the bed. Clothing was haphazardly strewn through the room, wrinkled and forgotten; and then there was the empty space next to D’Artagnan, the linens and spare pillow were wrinkled and warm from Athos’ body. Surely D’Artagnan would not sleep on only half of such a small bed if there had not been someone to share with. But most importantly, both men frowned at the sight of Athos himself. Bare from the waist up, they could clearly see small purple marks left carelessly on his neck, and fingerprints on his chest and belly from where D’Artagnan greedily held on to him. 

After a moment of guilty silence on Athos’ part, and stunned silence on Aramis and Porthos’ part, Porthos sighed and broke the ice. “Well. No wonder the Whelp's out cold.” Still, the frown remained. “Just be careful yeah?” Athos could only nod his head, grateful there would be no lecture from the larger man.

Aramis, who remembered the scene he interrupted last week, broke in, whispering “Is it worth the risk Athos? Do you truly love the boy?” Again, Athos silently nodded, his ice blue eyes meeting Aramis' brown eyes determinedly. 

He confessed, “Its better…I’m better when I’m with him.” It was then Aramis noticed a full bottle of wine on the table next to a tray of food. It hadn’t even been uncorked. And the corner of his mouth turned up into the slightest of grins. “Just…watch yourselves. This makes the second time I’ve caught you in a, how shall I say it? A compromising position?” His eyebrows rose in emphasis. Porthos’ shocked gaze turned toward him but Aramis only shook his head as if to say “not the time” and continued.

“If anyone but us ever suspects or sees anything, there will be hell to pay my friend.” Annoyed, Athos hissed out. “Don’t you think I know that?! Don’t you think I wish things were different? Don’t you think I tried to stay away from him? I can’t do it anymore!” He glanced back at D’Artagnan, needing reassurance he was still there, but was taken aback to see he was awake, brown eyes observing them, the sheets pooled around his waist, intently listening to the conversation, anxious to hear what his friends thought of him and Athos. 

Athos quickly went to the bed, sitting in the empty space. He reached out to brush a strand of black hair out of D’Artagnan’s face. “How long have you been listening Mon Amour?” Worry evident. D’Artagnan gripped Athos’ wrist and kissed his hand, his big brown eyes looking at Athos in wonder. “Long enough to hear you say you’re better when with me.” The pair continued to gaze at one another, everyone else in the room forgotten.

Until Porthos cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the display. The couple’s heads whipped around to see the two Musketeers standing before them, looking like flies trapped in honey, caught in a moment not meant for their eyes. Not only the intimate gestures, but also D’Artagnan himself. The boy’s lips were swollen and red, his hair a ratted mess, and purple fingerprint shaped bruises all over him.

“This is exactly what I mean.” Aramis pressed. “Lovers…” he tripped on the word, “especially secret lovers, always give themselves away.” If anyone knew that, it was Aramis. 

D’Artagnan defended “This is MY room. Aside from you and Porthos, I trust no others will barge into our private quarters. There are no prying eyes here except yours and I trust you will not tell a soul about us.”

Aramis had the decency to look chastised for a split second. “Yes. You’re right D’Artagnan. The three of us,” he gestured between himself, Porthos and Athos, “have always been as brothers, invading each other’s personal space and protecting each other. And that won’t change.” He explicitly vowed. “But, the two of you won’t always be locked away together. I beg you, please remain discreet in public. No longing looks, no intimate touches”, his gaze rested on Athos. “That includes brushing his hair out of his face.” The older man’s fingers twitched at the suggestion, anxious to bury themselves in the soft strands. He nodded as he realized his newly developed habit. 

“And you”, Aramis’ eyes shifted to D’Artagnan, “for the love of God, if you’re going to leave marks, at least do it where they can’t be seen in polite company.” He gestured at Athos’ neck as his Exhibit A. D’Artagnan blushed a furious red but nodded anyway.

“Athos.” Aramis’ voice now calm, “we’ll see you in the courtyard for duties in 15 minutes. D’Artagnan. You will stay in bed, resting that damned ankle. Porthos was assigned to bring your meals today and keep you company this evening, which he will do.” Porthos grunted in agreement. “However, if Athos wanted to drop by to check on his comrades later in the evening, no one would think it odd.” He smiled at the both them, implicitly giving his congratulations. He spun on his heel to leave the room. The lovers smiled in playful embarrassment and Porthos laughed his booming laugh as he followed his friend outside, making sure to close the door behind him. 

As soon as the space was theirs again, Athos turned back to D’Artagnan, his fingers finding their way into his hair, using it as leverage to pull the boy in for a kiss. He pressed his forehead against the younger man’s, realizing, that without thinking about it, the first thing he did was to go for D’Artagnan’s hair. Keeping his hands from the Pup in public was going to be a challenge.

“They’re right you know” he breathed against D’Artagnan’s mouth. “This won’t be easy.” 

D’Artagnan’s fingers found their way around the older man’s waist, digging in as if they were stealing comfort from the flesh. “We’re professionals. We can handle this. We can just pretend you’re avoiding me again if it comes to it.” Athos only sighed. D’Artagnan’s fingers left his waist and grasped his chin, gently stroking the stubble. “Our lives depend on it Mon Coeur.” 

“I know” he replied. “I should clean up and get down there before Aramis comes back” his said grimly. Before getting up, he kissed D’Artagnan, attempting to give reassurance as his tongue explored the warm cavern and painted the other’s pink lips with his saliva. Struggling to breathe, he broke the kiss, giving a squeeze to D’Artagnan’s arm before finally rising from the bed. D’Artganan only whined at the loss and pulled Athos back down, crashing their mouths together. He could feel the heat rising in both of their bodies, but somewhere in the back of his mind, through the fog of desire, he knew he must be the responsible one right now. He again broke their kiss and stood up before D’Artagnan realized what happened. 

Athos pleaded “You’re killing me Mon Amour.” I must go and you must rest. Despite knowing this was true, D’Artagnan nonetheless pouted. Athos avoided looking at those puppy eyes while he washed himself with a fresh cloth, gathered his clothes, dressed himself, ran his fingers through his hair, inwardly noting it wasn’t nearly as soft as D’Artagnan’s, and gathered anything the boy may need until Porthos brought him breakfast. Next to the bed, he placed the chamber pot, another fresh cloth with clean water, fresh small clothes and a few books to read.

When he was ready to leave, he once again leaned down to give D’Artagnan a quick goodbye kiss before retreating to the door before the boy could coax him into more. “Do you require anything else before I go?” He asked. D’Artagnan’s only reply was to raise his eyebrow seductively and smile innocently. The juxtaposition sent a jolt to Athos’ cock. He took a deep breath and opened the door before setting his voice into his usual dry tone “Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone Pup.” And with that, he shut the door and headed down to meet his brothers.


	9. Visions Of You Dance In My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos struggles to get through the work day without thinking of D'Artagnan.

Athos spent the entire day trying, and failing, to focus on his work. Instead his thoughts constantly drifted to D’Artagnan. Mostly, they were innocent. He wondered what he was doing, if his ankle felt better, and if he missed him. But then there were times the filthier thoughts trickled into his mind. Things he wanted to do to D’Artagnan’s body. Things he wanted D’Artagnan to do to him. 

During the months he spent fighting his feelings for the younger Musketeer, all of these same thoughts, both harmless and incriminating, had been sowed. None scared him so much as the lust filled images. The first time he had an impure thought about D’Artagnan, it had been a rainy day. They spent the afternoon training and sparring in the courtyard as fat water drops beat upon them; just an ordinary day teaching and guiding the boy in the sword. He was impressed, yet unsurprised that D’Artagnan kept up with him, the clanging of steel and dancing of feet exciting him and spurring him on. Finally, time was up and each came away cold, wet, sore and exhausted yet elated from the physical activity. The younger Musketeer said he farewells and turned away to walk home for the afternoon. As he walked, Athos watched him. The rain was now a light drizzle and he could clearly see all the lines of the boy’s back as he moved. The linen shirt stuck to the lean muscles; his breeches rode low on his hips as they swung with each step; the outline of his ass cheeks clearly visible against the clinging fabric.

As Athos watched, his breath caught. He felt like he was being punched in the gut as an image flashed through his mind. He had D’Artagnan bent over, his cock buried deep inside the boy’s warmth, the boy begging him for more. The image gone just as fast as it arrived, but it left Athos frightened and confused. However, as the picture in his mind played on a loop every night, no matter how much he tried to drink it away, tried to think of women, of Anne even, he found the only way to make it go away was to give in. He touched himself as he watched the scene in his mind’s eye and released with guilt and disgust. Every. Night. For months. And every morning at breakfast, he was greeted by D’Artagnan’s sweet and innocent face, so happy to see him. If he knew, he would hate Athos. He was sure. 

God help him, his infatuation with the younger man didn’t end at just the physical. After falling asleep, his dreams would be filled with the boy. His subconscious was happy to hold D’Artagnan, cuddle him, walk with him hand in hand through the city, drink with him in taverns, talk to him for hours on end, fight with him by his side and once, the vision that left him feeling the most empty of them all, once, he dreamed of them raising children together. In the dream, they were in his current lodgings, the sun streaming through the open shutters. He was sitting at the kitchen table, gazing at D’Artagnan as he stood next to the shelves, rocking a small bundle of blankets in his arms, cooing at it, and suddenly a little boy with shiny black curls and no face bounded in and jumped on his lap. “Papa!” he had yelled, throwing his arms around his neck. He woke in a cold sweat with tears in his eyes; confused, frustrated and heartbroken.

It took a long time for Athos to come to terms with his attraction. He could only hope it would one day fade, but deep down he knew it never would. His feelings for Anne never had. Even after everything that happened, a part of him still yearned for her. Wanted her. Athos, thought, at the time, he couldn’t possibly love D’Artagnan if he still loved Anne. That isn’t what love is. Is it?

But he did. He confessed it last night. Still lost in his thoughts he heard an annoyed “Anyone home in there?” as Porthos plopped down beside him at the lunch bench and waved a hand in his face. Athos muttered a half-hearted “Apologies” and resumed picking at his food. Porthos put him out of his misery. “The Pup is fine”, he lowered his voice into Athos’ ear. The older Musketeer turned his head to look at his friend. “Just brought em his lunch and e’s fine.” Athos nodded in acknowledgement. 

Porthos patted his shoulder and retreated, leaving the man to his thoughts. It was going to be a long day.


	10. You're a Handful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men progress in their intimacy.

Athos did not bother to knock. Excited to see the boy, he boldly strolled into D’Artagnan’s quarters and was greeted by the sight of D’Artagnan sitting at the table with Porthos, the two men playing cards and laughing. He grinned, glad to see them both so happy. When D’Artagnan saw him, his face lit up and he tried to stand, aiming to go to Athos to embrace him. Instead he gasped in pain when he set his foot down. Athos rushed to him instead, his hands grasping the younger Musketeer’s face gently. “What did I tell you about staying off that foot?” A kiss lessening the sting of chastisement. 

“I forget” D’Artagnan flirted as he sat again. “Perhaps you should remind me.” He pulled Athos down for another kiss, his tongue reaching out to taste the scarred lip. Athos groaned at the contact.

“MHMMM” Porthos loudly cleared his throat, interrupting them for the second time that day. “I’d better get goin then. It’s late and I’ve already beat the Pup eight times.” He stood up to gather his cards and began to walk to the door. “D’Artagnan’s voice carried with a hint of humor “only because you cheated.” He turned back to his friends to see Athos helping a limping D’Artagnan back to the bed. When he was settled, Athos approached Porthos, slapping his back. “Thank you for keeping him occupied. I’m sure he’s going stir crazy.” Porthos nodded as D’Artagnan piped up “HE is sitting right here.” 

A knowing grin spread across Porthos’ face. He clapped Athos on the shoulder in return. “Good luck with that one” he quietly whispered into Athos’ ear before turning to leave. 

When the door was closed, D’Artagnan again spoke up “What did he just say to you?” His youthful curiosity coming out. “He said…” Athos began as he strode across the room, pulling off his boots and doublet, “that you’re a handful.” He slid out of his breeches, now clad only in his small clothes covering him as he slid into bed next to the boy. “But that, Mon Amour, I already knew.” He was propped on his elbow, looking down at D’Artagnan’s face. He bent down to kiss away the faux insult drawing on the boy’s brow. He drew away, carding his fingers through his soft hair. “What did you do today?” 

D’Artagnan sighed at the touch. “I read a bit, slept bit…thought of you a lot. I missed you” He added. 

Athos’ clear blue eyes twinkled at him, remembering his daydreams and the look D’Artagnan gave him before he left that morning. His hand brushed under the linen small clothes he wore over his torso, a courtesy to Porthos' delicate eyes. But now, D’Artagnan rose up so Athos could slip it over his head, revealing an expanse of brown skin that Athos’ hand immediately went back to. D’Artagnan lay back on his pillow, luxuriating in the feel of Athos’ large hand grazing his nipples and his fingers twirling in his chest and belly hair. Athos himself was mesmerized by the feel of the hard muscle and course hair under his hand. The feeling was still so new and exciting. He had seen the dark strands poking out from underneath the boy’s under shirts and doublets before, curious how it would feel to have both of their hairy chests touch. 

He continued his caresses, taking his time and watching as a contented smile spread across D’Artagnan’s face. Soon, curiosity got the better of him and he removed his hand from the boy’s skin long enough to pull his own shirt over his head. D’Artagnan’s whimper at the loss of contact was cut off as Athos cautiously straddled the younger man’s hips; leaning down to press himself against his fellow Musketeer. He concentrated on the feel of their chests together while D’Artagnan squirmed under him, obviously aroused at the change of position. 

“Wait Mon Amour” he requested. “I want to feel us together.” D’Artagnan settled, also attempting to take in the sensations; both novel and familiar. 

Athos rested his head in the crook of D’Artagnan’s neck; his right hand soothingly sliding over the boy’s left oblique as he took inventory. The mingling hair on their chests and bellies was warm and slightly ticklish against his skin. And his chest. It offered a bit of softness but was mostly hard beneath him, a solid kind of comfort which promised safety in it's strength. He wondered if this was how it felt for a woman to be pressed against a man. Or did the cushion of her breasts offer gentleness to her as well as the man? He recalled feeling protective of Anne when her breasts pushed against him. And while he feels protective of D’Artagnan, he also feels protected in this moment. The feeling is magnified when D’Artagnan’s arms come around him to rest on his back, gently caressing the pale skin, sheltering him.

He continued to lay on the boy, his abdomen burning hot like coal against D’Artagnan’s skin. His musings changed to focus on the lower part of them. They were both fully erect in their small clothes. He could feel the younger man, eager to thrust and slide, starving for the friction, yet he remained patient and let Athos continue his reflections. He noticed the growing wet spot between them and every time D’Artagnan involuntarily twitched beneath him, his own cock twitched in response as if they were calling out to each other, demanding contact with their mate. The thought made Athos groan. In response, D’Artagnan stroked the back of Athos’ head, shushing him and kissing his cheek; urging him to take his time. He felt his thigh’s locked around the boy’s slim hips, noting how familiar the frame was. While the thick hardness pressed into him was obviously male, D’Artagnan’s hips and waist were as slender as a female’s. He remembered that day in the rain, watching him walk away. He didn’t have the curves of a woman, but the urge to reach out and run his hands over his lanky, feminine structure was strong. 

Athos could have lain there for hours, making comparisons and enjoying the feel of D’Artagnan’s body trapped beneath him, but the sensation building in his testicles was becoming too much. His cock throbbed, begging for attention, so with one small thrust, he shoved his length down D’Artagnan’s, eliciting a gasp from the boy. 

One more experimental thrust and he realized he needed more contact. He reluctantly got off of the boy, hearing a whimper of protest. “I’m not going anywhere D’Artagnan. Trust me.” The boy nodded. He trusted Athos in everything. The older man removed the last bit of clothing from his body and now stood completely vulnerable. D’Artagnan’s eyes were full of awe as he reached out to touch the man standing before him. “You’re so beautiful Mon Coeur.” 

Athos moved to the foot of the bed and reached out, grabbing the ankle hem of the underclothes still on D’Artagnan. He gently pulled and D’Artagnan followed the silent order. He looped his thumb into the waist band, raised his hips and slid the fabric down his legs until he could not reach the end without bending his legs. Athos very gently lifted the boy’s injured leg by the calf and carefully slid the fabric over the swollen and bruised skin. He repeated the motion with the same tenderness on D’Artagnan’s uninjured leg. Now both were fully nude with nothing to hide behind. Athos’ eyes curiously took in the form before him. D’Artagnan’s cock was still hard and leaking. He noted that D’Artagnan was longer than his, but his was thicker. He was compelled to touch and claim the other one as his own.

Athos walked back to the side of the bed and once again positioned his thighs around D’Artagnan’s hips. He sank back into the boy’s body, not realizing how cold he had become in that short time apart. D’Artagnan’s arms wrapped around his back again and he resumed stroking Athos’ hair. The only difference now was the lack of fabric separating sensitive and forbidden skin. The sensation as their cocks slid together caused both men to moan, attempting to stifle the volume in each other's hair. Athos wanted to claim, and he did as he reached down and took both of them into his large, calloused hand, thrusting experimentally. D’Artagnan moaned his name like he was dying and Athos was the only person who could save him. While they were both wet from arousal, it was not enough for what the older man had in mind. He removed his hand and with a vulgarity that surprised him, he spit into it. He shamefully looked down at D’Artagnan, but the boy was completely lost in his lust, not caring what Athos did to him, as long as he did something. 

He wrapped his hand around them once again and rolled his eyes at the pleasure the new slickness brought as he moved. His lips swallowed D’Artagnan’s groans and whimpers as he thrust, sliding their cocks together in an irregular rhythm; his gyrating hips causing the bed to squeak and D’Artagnan to jostle under him. His mind once again flashed to the image that had changed it all; the boy taking Athos into his body. His breath hitched at the familiar image and his cock ached for it, the current friction only half satisfying him. 

D’Artagnan was on the same page, begging through their kisses, “Athos, I need more.” He whined before adding “Need to feel you inside.” Not caring how desperate he sounded. Just then, the boy tried to spread his legs beneath Athos’ thighs, attempting to coax him to move between them, closer to his entrance, but as he lifted his ankle off the stack of pillows, a pain shot through him and he cursed in frustration. 

Athos quickly soothed the hurt with a gentle kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of D’Artagnan’s lips. “It is not yet the time for that” he gently preached, D’Artagnan’s face falling in disappointment. “When you are well, we can do whatever you like” Athos added to appease him. He continued, changing his voice to sound like the commanding Musketeer that he was. “Until then, you lie still and I will do all the work.” 

Athos gently slid down the boy's legs until he reached his destination. He mischievously smirked, trying to mask his nervousness as he took a penis into his mouth for the first time. He closed his eyes in satisfaction as D’Artagnan’s taste filled his mouth. His tongue explored the ridges and veins along the shaft, ignoring the pain on his scalp as the younger man reflexively pulled his hair; overlooking the blasphemy as he shouted “Oh God Athos!” and praying that nobody heard it but him. He was just as haphazard in his technique as D’Artagnan had been in the the previous night. He was practiced with Anne, knowing exactly what she liked, but he needed to experiment with the boy, who was in another league. He took note of what made his body attempt to fly off the bed and what made him melt into the sheets. However, it was the pad of his index finger firmly pressed against his perineum which caused D’Artagnan to release without warning, collapsing and fighting for air. It hadn't taken long. The boy was still young and got overly excited easily but Athos was the patient type and knew he would have more time later to play.

He moved up the bed and laid his head next to D’Artagnan’s, gathering the limp boy against him. Curiously, Athos wiped the renegade seed, which had landed in multiple places during the boy’s thrashing about, from his face and placed his finger in his mouth, tasting the bitter and musky salt flavor. His face scrunched in aversion, wondering how D’Artagnan had swallowed so much of his own the night before. Then he looked down at the blissed out face staring up at him in adoration and he knew. It was a part of Athos, no matter how bitter or unpleasant, D’Artagnan would have him all.

Just as he would have D’Artagnan.


	11. D'Artagnan 1; Athos 0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos' sexual education continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I realize I'm writing Athos as naive to the whole gay sex thing. I'm going on the assumption (I did zero research for this story) that growing up as nobility, in a very reserved society, that he didn't get much exposure to illegal or "taboo" subjects. However, I also realize that as a wealthy and educated person, he probably had access to all the Greek and Roman texts D'Artagnan did (Actually, as a farm kid, I'm not sure how much education D'Artagnan would have had) as far as male/male relationships are concerned. Anywho, in order to better enjoy the story, it's probably better to suspend belief. :)
> 
> Also, the next chapter, chapter 12, will be the finale.

A month had passed and D’Artagnan was officially cleared for duty beginning tomorrow. He was thrilled at the prospect of diving into the fray again. During his recovery, he had a constant stream of comrade Musketeers coming to regale him with tales of everything he was missing. Aramis told the most colorful versions and it was the second best entertainment he had. The first best, of course, was Athos. 

He came every night, relieving either Aramis or Porthos, sometimes both, of their caretaker duty. It was the nights that D’Artagnan looked forward to during the day and cursed as they ended as the sun rose at dawn. The men would lay in each other’s arms, sated and warm as they watched the light spill through the shutters, and fret over the end of their ritual, when D’Artagnan no longer required care for his injury, when Athos would no longer have an excuse to visit the boy late into the evening. It was a safe wager in their line of work that another injury would be just around the corner, but neither wished to see the other in pain, no matter how much private time it bought them together. 

That’s why Athos was planning to give D’Artagnan the thing he wanted most in the world on this last guaranteed night together. Tonight, he was going to make love to his Musketeer. 

Alas, it was only 1:00pm and Athos still had at least five hours before he was relieved of duty for the day. He took a break from sparring with a new recruit and let his mind wander.

He had caved in to every pathetic, puppy eye’d, manipulative look D’Artagnan gave him over the past month; except that one. They had explored each other’s bodies diligently, sometimes in silly play, other times in sober passion, and still other times in battle for control. One such battle, which Athos lost, was D’Artagnan’s demand for Athos’ fingers to enter him. On the night in question, they had lain on their sides, face to face with D’Artagnan’s good leg thrown over Athos’ waist, the naked skin to skin contact inspiring the boy to be bold, making his desire clear. As their mouths dueled and Athos’ hand stroked the boy’s cock lazily, D’Artagnan grew impatient. He removed his leg from the crook of the waist it rested in, lifting it up for better access, grasped Athos’ hand from his skin, and snaked the older man’s fingers through the space of his spread legs and pressed them against his hole, holding them still and trying to rock onto them.

Athos, never breaking the kiss, jerked his fingers away as if D’Artagnan was a hot kettle he burned himself on. He placed them on the boy’s hip, gripping harder in an unspoken “no.” Not to be deterred, D’Artagnan grunted into Athos’ mouth, and again moved the unwilling hand to his entrance. Athos dearly wanted to give the boy what he wanted, to make both of them happy, but he was weary. While he knew the basic principles of buggary, he was ignorant on the details. It wasn’t exactly something lads discussed, unlike the informal education, a.k.a boasting, older men passed on regarding how to bed a female. He had never taken a woman’s virginity. Anne had only feigned inexperience he later discovered. The thought of ripping into D’Artagnan frightened him; he envisioned blood pouring from the boy, his voice screaming out in torturous pain. No, despite the fantasy he held dearly, and his strong yearning to feel himself inside, he knew it still wasn’t the right time, for himself, or D’Artagnan. 

So once again, he removed his hand from the outside of the hole, instead placing it on brown, firm cheeks in hopes of appeasing the boy. He gently kneaded the globes, his palms massaging and caressing. Unfortunately, the intended reason for the touch backfired and D’Artagnan only pressed against him with more eagerness, his patience running thin the third time he positioned Athos’ hand against him, bucking against it. 

Tired of resisting the temptation, Athos ceased kissing D’Artagnan and for the final time moved his hand, this time to rest on the boy’s face. Habitually, he brushed a strand of soft hair behind the boy’s ear. “No Mon Amour” he gently insisted. “You’re ankle is better, but it’s still too sore for such activity.” D’Artagnan protested “I don’t care about the pain. I want it.” He reached down and wrapped is fingers around the older man’s erect penis in demonstration.

“I do.” Athos responded. He looked away from the boy’s expectant face and shamefully admitted “It’s not just your ankle I worry about hurting. I don’t know what I’m doing D’Artagnan. I don’t want your first time to be horrific." D’Artagnan sweetly smiled at the man’s confession and countered the argument. “It's going to hurt” he agreed, “but it will hurt less if I'm prepared.” Athos quirked his head at him. “Your fingers Mon Coeur.” He clarified. “They will stretch me…widen me in preparation for you to enter easily, when the time is right. I will guide you.” Athos only looked suspicious of the explanation. “Trust me Athos. I would not lie to you” he vowed, puppy dog eyes the icing on the cake.

And just like that, D’Artagnan won the battle. 

Athos recalled how D’Artagnan pulled out a vial, dipping the older man’s fingers in to coat them in a clear oil. It was “lubrication” D’Artagnan unnecessarily explained. “It’ll make it easier, more pleasurable.” 

“Where…where did you get this?” He asked in astonishment. “Aramis.” D’Artagnan blushed and Athos frowned.

“He only wanted to help.” The boy pacified, noticing the upset look on Athos’ face. The older man nodded once, acknowledging the friendly support, but cringed inside, thinking he should have known better and procured the substance himself for privacy’s sake. 

When D’Artagnan realized Athos’ acceptance of the gift, he gently brushed his lips against the older man’s to bring him back into the moment. “I’m ready.” He announced before gently turning over onto his belly, careful of the now two week old injury. Athos eyes widened in curiosity as the boy lifted his rear into the air, presenting himself in a way that made the older Musketeer’s own entrance involuntarily contract in scandalous lust. 

Sensing the hesitation, D’Artagnan turned his head to meet Athos’ face and reassured “It’ll be easier in this position…to see what you’re doing.” He blushed. 

“How do know how to do all this?” Athos asked suspiciously. 

“I read a lot.” He answered, picturing the ancient Greek and Roman texts he’s devoured. Athos ground his teeth, unsatisfied with the answer but letting it go, deciding to trust the boy. 

Athos’ eyes once again drifted to the sight of D’Artagnan, wantonly spread for him, his ass in the air. It was when he slowly scooted closer he caught a good glimpse of the boy’s most secret body part. The dark puckered hole was covered with a dusting of course black hair. The smooth brown skin of the globes on either side of it were calling out to him and without any more uncertainty, he reached out and firmly grabbed onto them, kneading them, kissing them, his brain memorizing the look of them in his hands. The oil D’Artagnan had dipped his fingers into was coating the brown skin, making it slippery and difficult for him to continue with a good grip. His grasp became tighter in an effort to hold on and the boy’s whimpers became more frequent. Athos’ eyes remained glued to the sight and he saw as D’Artagnan’s hole contracted with each cry. 

He felt like a small child, looking at something he was prohibited to touch, wanting to touch it all the more for the forbidden nature. He tentatively reached his index finger out and gently grazed the pucker, afraid someone would burst in on them the second he made contact. But nobody came in to arrest them and D’Artagnan only moaned in encouragement. The older man explored the area with his fingers, noting the ridges, the now greasy hair sticking to the skin, the elasticity when he very slightly breached it with the tip of his index finger. While it wasn’t the most attractive thing he’d ever seen, it was beautiful because it belonged to D’Artagnan, and everything about D’Artagnan was stunning. Out of sheer elation, he leaned down to press his lips against it, feeling the slickness against his lips and the masculine scent in his nose. Curiously, he touched his tongue to it, tasting the warm skin and musky flavor. 

It was D’Artagnan’s frantic reaction for more that prompted him on. With one strong, wide stroke, his tongue licked from his perineum to the tip of his crack at the base of his spine, kissing the dimples there when finished. The boy buried his face in the pillow, stifling a moan as Athos did it again, this time beginning at the base of the spine and ending at the perineum. D’Artagnan’s knuckles where white as he tightly gripped the pillow under his face. Experimentally, Athos placed the tip of his tongue against the boy’s entrance and pressed in, anxious of what it would taste like, but desperately wanting to find out. It tasted of sweat, salt and smelled of ass. It wasn't unpleasant but not the best thing Athos had ever tasted. That would be D'Artagnan's mouth. But D’Artagnan continued to moan and writhe, calling out Athos’ name, begging him not to stop. 

But as with most young men, the novel pleasure was too much for D’Artagnan and with only one wiggle of the tongue inside of him, he released in a burst of spasms. Athos’ eyes shot open in surprise as the boy’s hole clamped down on his tongue, irrationally afraid he would be trapped there. But as D’Artagnan’s body relaxed, so did his entrance, and Athos easily removed his tongue. 

He looked at his beautiful boy in the afterglow, his back still arched in the air, his face turned to look at the older man, smiling a big dopey grin. Athos’ hand reached out and he gently stroked the boy’s back soothingly. He traveled up, sliding his oil and saliva covered fingers into black hair, smoothing down the wild locks. He then bent down to kiss D’Artagnan, letting the boy taste himself. D’Artagnan kissed him vigorously in gratitude for the surrender. When Athos needed to breathe, he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against D’Artagnan’s, his gaze shifting to notice the pool of white seed cooling between the boy’s belly and the sheets. He reluctantly got up to retrieve a cloth, wiping the mess clean before tossing it on the floor and settling back beside the warm body, still coming down from his high. 

“Good?” Asked Athos as he lay on his back, D’Artagnan collapsing into his arms, head resting on the older man’s hairy chest. 

D’Artagnan’s only answer was to chuckle and nod, cuddling even harder against Athos, seemingly trying to crawl into him. Both men lay in silence, each collecting their thoughts as Athos continued to stroke D’Artagnan’s damp hair.

It was D’Artagnan who broke the silence. “I’ve never…experienced anything like that before. Thank you Mon Coeur.” Athos kissed the crown of his head in reply, always one to modestly accept thanks and compliments.

The young Musketeer continued, reaching out and palming his hand over Athos’ now soft penis. Athos twitched, but removed the boy’s hand, kissing the palm. “It’s of no concern right now.” D’Artagnan shifted his head to look at Athos’ face, searching for the truth, but found a look of contentment. His blue eyes were shut and he had a serene aura around him.

Satisfied Athos did not need anything in return at the moment, he cuddled back into the warm chest and both men fell asleep.

***

A hour and a half later, Athos awoke sweating, stretching around the furnace of a body still clinging to him. He could feel the boy begin to stir and he again found his fingers laced in soft hair. A thought popped into his mind as the haze of sleep dissipated. His hand traveled down, grazing D’Artagnan’s soft cheek, gently squeezing. 

“You know,” his sleep rasped voice whispered into the boy’s ear. “We never did work on preparing you.” His fingers dipped into the crack, caressing the now familiar pucker, all doubt and reserve gone.

“D’Artagnan groaned and smiled against Athos’ neck. He pulled himself off of the older man and again resumed his previous position, excited for more attention. 

“No. Turn over.” Athos commanded. “I wish to see your face this time.”

D’Artagnan did as he was bid and turned onto his back, spreading his legs in invitation. Athos looked down at him, seeing the boy’s hero worship directed at him, he grabbed the vial, dipping his finger in before moving it to the coveted entrance. The younger man moaned as he was opened. Athos was in awe at the soft heat and he continued to feel his way around….

“ATHOS!” The Musketeer was jerked from his memory at the shout, whipping his head to find Aramis grinning knowingly at him. “Your recruit is wasting away over there” he said pointing to a kid trying to balance the hilt of his sword on his palm. Athos had the decency to look guilty for loosing track of time, but called out to the new boy, “Give me another minute and I’ll be right there!” The kid nodded and continued his game. 

Athos shifted in his breeches, willing his cock to go down before standing up.


	12. Breaking the Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last piece of the puzzle falls into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm assuming, based on his code of honor and "proper upbringing", Athos waited for marriage to have sex. Does anyone know how long he and Anne were married? I'm assuming, again, it was only a short time. 
> 
> Also, for the undressing part, I was thinking of the undressing scene from the Brazilian movie "From Beginning to End" as kind of a loose inspiration. Just to give an idea of what it looked like in my head.

“Are you excited to return to duty tomorrow?” Athos questioned as he sat at the table, watching D’Artagnan freely move about the room, delighting in simply being up on his feet without searing pain.

“I’m excited to be of use again.” Came the diplomatic reply. Both men knew it was going to be a challenge to work with each other. To see and talk to each other during the day, yet prohibited from touching or flirting, was going to be difficult to say the least. Aramis and Porthos had promised to slap them upside the head if they caught the two acting suspiciously. "For the sake of friendship", they had assured while attempting to hide eager grins. 

Athos nodded his head in acknowledgment of the boy’s response, too busy working up his nerve to think of something better to say. “I…have a surprise for you tonight.” He nervously blurted. 

D’Artagnan’s eyebrows rose up. “A surprise?!” he questioned, his demeanor lighting up in anticipation.

“I recall a promise I made you some weeks ago.” Athos hesitated as D’Artagnan began to guess what the surprise was. The younger man tried not to get his hopes up. 

“That when your ankle was healed, we could…I would…umm.” The older man fumbled shyly. He couldn’t understand why saying the words were so difficult. He hadn’t been a virgin since his wedding night and had explored and experimented even more with D’Artaganan during the past month. But, he thought, in this, he was a virgin. A nervous one. 

D’Artagnan approached the seat Athos sat on, kneeling. He took Athos’ hands in his own. “Why are you uneasy Mon Coeur? If you still aren’t ready, we can wait longer” the boy promised. Athos was frustrated with himself. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “I shouldn’t be. I’m a King’s Musketeer. We are the bravest of the brave.” He squeezed D’Artagnan’s hand to indicate his inclusion as a Musketeer. Memories of all the good they’ve done flashed through his head; of all the justice they brought, of all the laws they upheld and he realized the problem. 

“We’d be crossing the last line left D’Artagnan. No going back.” D’Artagnan looked at him, confused. “I executed my wife in the name of justice, of duty. “Athos voice was on the verge of tears at the agonizing memory. “My whole life has been about honor and integrity, no matter the cost. And now I’m a hypocrite. I lay here with you every night breaking the law and not caring.” D’Artagnan nodded, the truth dawning on him. 

“I have pledged my life to defend King and Country. “When we do this, it will be the final act of sedition. All that we stand for will be a lie.” 

D’Artagnan’s mind raced to keep up with the confession, wanting to rebut yet not coerce. “Athos,” His grip on the older man’s hand tightened. “You know as well as I that not every law is just.” Athos nodded in silent agreement as he bitterly added “Yet, they are still set.” The older man listened to D’Artagnan’s next words carefully.

“Then you must make a decision Athos; to continue on the path we’ve chosen, or leave me.”

The boy’s words were curt. He knew a long speech begging Athos to stay with him would be successful. Athos would not deny him anything in that state. But he also knew the choice would be doubted later. No, the older man must hear the two options, presented coldly, side by side to understand that whatever he chooses will be final. As much as the younger man would die inside if the older man left him, the wound would only fester if Athos’ behavior towards him was fickle; one day loving him, the next despising him for his own weakness. He knew Athos’ history of one foot in, one foot out; he’d seen it with Milady and he would not have the same ending for them. 

A million thoughts flashed through Athos’ mind; all the “what ifs”, desire, rejection, probable sacrifices, possible gains, pains and joys, a short miserable life ended by drink, or a short blissful life, ended with love and devotion. D’Artagnan waited patiently outwardly but anxiously on the inside. His only tell was the bottom lip he was chewing on. After what seemed like an hour, Athos gently gripped D’Artagnan’s chin between his fingers, his eyes more serious than the young Musketeer had ever seen. 

“You.” 

Before D’Artagnan could respond, Athos surged on him, attacking his lips and wrapping his fingers in the boy’s shirt, pulling him closer; their tongues dueled as if he was proving something to himself. D’Artagnan’s sensitive skin prickled as Athos’ rough beard violently rubbed against him. Athos had not kissed him like this since that first time five weeks ago and he melted under the passionate heat the older man aimed at him. He let Athos manhandle him, his feet moving awkwardly backward, the trajectory caused by Athos pressing himself firmly against the taller body. His calves bumped against the bed and he fell onto it, breaking the spell.

Athos knelt front of D’Artagnan’s sitting form. He looked up at the boy, his hands grasping the thighs of the young musketeer’s breeches. D’Artagnan noticed how clear his blue eyes were, how the lines on his face were set in determination. “I choose you.” He repeated.

D’Artagnan reached his hand down, stroking the older man’s bearded cheek in affection. “And I choose you.” 

Athos then leaned forward on his knees, wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist, pressing his face into his chest, nuzzling into D’Artagnan’s breast like a child in need of comfort. D’Artagnan kissed the crown of brown hair and slowly stood, shaking Athos off him. Athos watched at the younger man removed his breeches and under clothes, standing exposed in front of Athos. Following the boy’s lead, Athos also stood up and removed his clothes as D’Artagnan watched. Silently, Athos maneuvered D’Artagnan onto his back and then settled himself between his open, waiting thighs. There would be no hesitation, no teasing, no messing around. 

The two men’s mouths met, working against each other as Athos reached out to grab the replenished vial they kept hidden in the table drawer. He swiftly dipped his index and middle fingers in, replaced the vial to its table and moved the slick digits to D’Artagnan’s entrance, slowly and familiarly sliding in. D’Artagnan moaned into his mouth as Athos’ finger wiggled inside of him, caressing his walls, searching for, yet failing to find that spot that drove the boy crazy. He unexpectedly discovered it last week when his middle finger brushed across the bundle of nerves. Ever since, he has enjoyed the reaction it brings from D’Artagnan. 

When he felt D’Artagnan was ready, he retracted his index finger, only to re-enter with both his index and middle side by side, creating a wider stretch. The boy only whimpered into Athos’ mouth at the slight burn. The older man worked his fingers, lost in the warm and wet sensation as he left his fingerprints on the muscled walls. He then added his ring finger, continuing the preparation. His penis twitched in anticipation. This was it. After months and months of fantasy, he was going to experience the real thing. A sudden sensation of longing crashed into him as D’Artagnan wiggled against him, the boy’s own fingers running over Athos’ hard cock, making sure he was also ready for his part of the bargain. 

The two men had been staring at each other’s face all the while, soaking in the sight and when D’Artagnan’s eye closed and he nodded, Athos knew it was his cue. 

He gently removed his fingers and gently took D’Artagnan’s prize away, replacing the boy’s hand with his own; placing it against the stretched opening, making sure he was lined up correctly, he very carefully and experimentally pressed in a tiny fraction. He could feel the powerful warmth heating the tip. He felt overwhelmed and uncontrolled. He wanted to shove in, to feel that feeling fully. He wanted to not hurt the boy more and in an effort to control himself, he buried his head in crook of D’Artagnan’s neck as he removed his hand from his cock, assured it now knew where it was going. Instead, he planted both hands into the sheets next to D’Artagnan’s head, his knuckles white from the endeavor; he rested on his forearms, making sure to hold himself above the younger man so as not to crush him.

Athos pushed in a bit more and D’Artagnan whimpered in pain. Athos froze, his fingers squeezing the bed linen tighter. As if to say “I’m okay”, D’Artagnan lifted his hands from their place on Athos’ waist and moved to his back, softly stroking the length of his spine, giving assurance. The heat radiating from their naked chests and bellies pressed together was producing a small amount of sweat between them and when it was clear Athos was not going to move anytime soon, D’Artagnan used the new slickness between them to leverage his pelvis up a small amount, taking another inch of Athos in. The older man gasped at the unexpected move but D’Artagnan sighed in pleasure. As D’Artagnan adjusted to the new inch, Athos’ face was still buried in the boy’s neck, his place of solace from the intensity of the act. 

When D’Artagnan felt he was ready for more, he whispered into his Musketeer’s ear. “Your turn.”

Athos’ silent response was to push his pelvis forward, invading the boy yet another inch. Both men groaned at the increasing spread and soft warmth respectively. D’Artagnan continued to soothingly run his hands over Athos’ back and through his hair; continued to reassure he was fine. But he wanted to know if Athos was also fine. He again turned to whisper in the ear pressed to his cheek, “I wish to see your face Mon Coeur.” D’Artagnan was surprised to see blue eyes wet with unshed tears when Athos rose from the safety of his neck to give the boy what he desired. He again silently responded to the sight by raising his pelvis up, taking in another inch of the man. The tears threatened to spill as Athos’ eyes widened at the sensation. 

They continued like that, staring at each other in awe, taking turns, groans escaping unoccupied lips and reassuring touching until their pelvis’ finally met. Neither had felt anything so good, so right in their lives. While both men struggled not to move, waiting for the boy to adjust, Athos distracted himself, leaning down to kiss D’Artagnan for the first time since he lay between his legs. It was a kiss filled with promises and devotion, of passion and fear. D’Artagnan felt tears prickle into his eyes. He was overwhelmed at being so filled and worshiped. 

“Athos” he whispered through the kiss, his voice unable go louder. Athos reluctantly tore himself away from those perfect soft lips and looked at his boy, seeing their matching wet eyes. “Ready” was the young Musketeer’s message. 

With one more soft peck, Athos slowly began to withdraw. Each whimpering as they felt walls and ridges and warmth and slickness stimulate sensitive nerves and skin. Before Athos could fully leave though, he gently pushed back in, no longer inch by inch, but now entirely, if still slowly. He was encouraged when D’Artagnan’s fingers dug into the skin on his back, urging him on. After two or three experimental withdrawals and re-entries, they were heaping messes. D’Artagnan looked like he had gone to another place. His eyes were glazed over, his mouth slack and his hearing selective; listening only to Athos’ noises of pleasure and not his own. 

Athos though, was very present. He watched the boy intently; wanting to remember this for the rest of his life. He couldn’t blame D’Artagnan for getting lost in the feelings; he was the same way at one time. But now he was older and experience had taught him nothing was permanent and memories, if they lasted into old age, could keep you warm on the coldest of days. His memories of Anne and Thomas haunted him, tormented him; but all of his memories of D’Artagnan comforted him and he decided nothing, no matter how bitter or tragic an event, would change that. This one would surely sustain him for years to come and he would take in every bit of it, even if it later became bittersweet, he was resolute to keep it. 

When he was sure D’Artagnan could take it, and when he could no longer tolerate the torturous pace himself, he sped his movement, snapping his hips with Musketeer efficiency. At the change, D’Artagnan shook off his reverie. He felt Athos filling him, claiming him and loving him with each thrust. The burn of the stretch was over and now he was left with the pleasure. He gasped as the quickened pace overloaded his senses. The nerves inside of him were enduring a beautiful beating, Athos taking care to find that place he liked to use to make him scream. He concentrated on the feeling of the other man’s hardness invading him, wishing he could take in more of him. But he was also bombarded by the friction meeting his own cock. It lay stiff and leaking between the two men’s bellies. Each time they moved against each other, the heated and slick skin rubbed the swollen flesh, igniting a need in D’Artagnan’s groin that matched the need in his ass. 

All the while, Athos continued to stare down at the stunning man beneath him. He saw all the flashes of pleasure cross his face, he saw the need, and he heard the sweet sounds of satisfaction and torturous bliss spill from deep within his throat. He was pulled closer against the boy when he felt long legs wrap around his waist in an involuntarily and shocked movement. 

Feeling something touching between them, he looked down to see D’Artagnan had wrapped his hand around his cock, pumping it in time to his thrusts. He felt a small flash of guilt for neglecting that part of his lover, but he was so enraptured by everything else, it honestly hadn’t crossed his mind. Athos reached down, attempting to take over so the boy could simply enjoy it; he refused, shaking his head at the endeavor. 

D’Artagnan thrust his hips, meeting Athos’ pelvis in a crash and clenching his muscles, holding tight for a second and Athos let out a loud groan at the pressure, his mouth finding D’Artagnan’s in a rush of affection. The boy then changed and set the pace himself. His hips began to thrash wildly, his hand matching time. Athos could feel the younger man’s abdomen clenching between them as he subconsciously followed the new speed. D’Artagnan’s movements became frantic and erratic and all too soon, Athos felt the familiar tightening of the walls, only this time it was not around his tongue or fingers. The boy went rigid beneath him, his voice tried to call out, but nothing slipped from his vocal cords except the faintest of grunts, his eyes clamped shut in concentration, his legs clenched around Athos’ waist, his left hand dug into Athos’ hip, bruising the delicate flesh and his right hand continued to grip his cock. The younger man paid no mind to the seed, first shooting to land on their chests and then oozing between his fingers; because the second his release ended, Athos’ began.

The intensified pressure around him and the sight of his lover in such pure, uncorrupted happiness was his undoing. He too felt his stomach clench and his testicles tighten as his own release erupted. He let go, burying his face in D’Artagnan’s neck, stifling the moan, as the feeling overtook him and he let himself release inside of the boy. His body spasmed as D’Artagnan’s muscles continued to contract around him, milking him for more. He could only collapse on the welcoming body in exhaustion. Athos gently and lazily pulled out of the boy, each disappointed at the loss of contact but D’Artagnan took consolation as warm seed slowly spilled from him, running between his crack and landing on the sheets beneath him. 

They ended the same way they began, with D’Artagnan offering soothing and loving strokes on Athos’ back and in his sweaty hair, kissing his cheek in loving relief. 

They lay like that for a long while, each coming down from the high, letting their heartbeats return to normal and reluctant to separate. It was Athos who moved first. He raised his head from the crook of D’Artagnan’s neck and once again began to study the boy, desiring to commit his “after” look to memory. 

D’Artagnan only gazed up at him in adoration. His hand reached out and his fingers grazed the older man’s lips, eliciting a small grin. It was then that D’Artagnan’s attention moved to his lover’s eyes, and the crinkles around them that appeared when he smiled. He traced the lines he rarely got to see. Some people would say they made him look his age, but D’Artagnan loved them. Everything that put them there; the lifetime of joyful laughs, the pain of the past and worry of the present, the rough life he lived as a soldier, it all made Athos Athos. D’Artagnan leaned up to kiss the lines, communicating to the older man how much he was loved and cherished.

**  
After dozing for a bit, they awoke to find the moon high in the sky. They grudgingly got out of bed to use the chamber pot and clean themselves. The growling in their stomachs convinced them to eat before curling back up with each other. 

They made love two more times before sunbeams began to shine through the shutters. Each saddened when they realized the coming night would be the first they would be separated, neither having a valid reason why Athos should stay in the other man’s quarters overnight. Perhaps D’Artagnan could come live with him under the guise that he can no longer afford his own place. It would be risky, especially since a Musketeer’s salary was enough to live alone, even if in a tiny place like the one the boy was in now. But sharing expenses was not unheard of. Athos would spend the entire day racking his brain for an air tight, non-incriminating reason for them to live together. 

But for right now, they soaked each other in, taking comfort in the belief their love was not impure or unnatural. They held onto each other, each the happiest they’ve ever been; and knowing no matter what the future brings, they will keep holding onto each other because they are prepared to face it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who took the time to read this: Thank you! This was by far the longest thing I've ever written and there were times I struggled to continue (short attention span). I usually do one-shots, but this took on a life of its own.  
> I really hope ya'll enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> More chapters are coming. Normally I don't like to post a story until it is completed and proof read multiple times. However, I do have the story almost completely written, but I was getting impatient and needed to post something to keep me motivated enough to finish.


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